


The Wrong Number One

by PandorasBox (AdriannaRhode)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, also, and a good cute jersey swap has such potential, and in the dark, basically almost crack, i'm always a slut for kurodai okay, it's hard to tell which jersey is which, it's rated g but i said the fuck word a couple times i'm sorry, that moment when u and ur bf both wear number one, that moment when ur kohai are nosy little jerks who can't let u live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 23:10:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10423887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdriannaRhode/pseuds/PandorasBox
Summary: “Tell me why everyone’s staring at me.”“That’s not your jersey."(Accidental Jersey Swap)





	

**Author's Note:**

> In hindsight, this is a little OOC. But I was requested to do a jersey-swap and also to do KuroDai and this is what happened. Plz forgive me.

Daichi first suspected that something was wrong in the world when Tsukishima walked past Hinata without saying anything mean. 

Usually, the lanky blonde asshole of a middle blocker never passed up an opportunity to be even more of an asshole to his tiny orange counterpart. But he stood by Hinata’s side, the two of them passing glances back and forth with a kind of unspoken comradery that made Daichi equal parts nervous and suspicious. 

“Tsukishima!” Daichi barked in his best captain’s voice, hoping the seriousness would prod them back to normalcy.

“Yes?” answered the aforementioned blonde asshole breezily. 

Shit. Daichi hadn’t prepared anything beyond that.

“Go…warm up,” he finished lamely. 

Tsukishima’s cool gaze lingered on the captain for a few seconds longer than necessary, before he nodded curtly and strode towards the spot where Yamaguchi and Ennoshita were stretching. 

Okay, that was normal-ish.

Daichi yawned. His train back to Miyagi that morning had been too early. He’d barely made it to school on time, and had actually contemplated missing practice. Missing practice! What kind of a captain was he?

Obviously, an entertaining one, because now Suga and Asahi had joined the ranks of people intent on staring a hole through him. He could feel his ears growing hot in discomfort. Did he have something on his face? 

“Hey, Daichi?” called Ennoshita, voice saccharine-sweet.

Dubiously, Daichi turned toward him. “Yes?”

“Cat got your tongue?” 

Daichi blinked, “Excuse me?”

But Ennoshita just glanced over at Tsukishima and grinned. Tsukishima grinned back.

And that was simply too much to bear. Daichi turned desperately toward the other third-years, who were still watching him closely.

“Suga.”

“Yeah?”

“Suga,” he repeated.

“Yes?”

“You’re my vice-captain,” Daichi pleaded.

Suga’s eyes crinkled with a laugh, “Correct.”

“Tell me why everyone’s _staring_ at me.”

“Staring? No one’s staring.”

Daichi rolled his eyes, “You’re doing it right now!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Suga, pretending to become very interested in Hinata and Tanaka shouting across the gym. 

Exasperated, Daichi turned to his last hope. “Asahi?”

“That’s not your jersey,” said Asahi simply.

Oh. Oh no. Daichi didn’t dare look down at his torso, lest he find out that his teammates were not playing an involved joke on him and that he was actually wearing-

“Who does it belong to, then?” Daichi asked, playing dumb and praying silently.

Tsukishima’s reply cut through the lingering hesitation like a matter-of-fact sword to the gut.

“Kuroo-san.”

\--------------------

“Kuroo-san?”

Kuroo turned toward the sound of Yaku’s tentative voice with a yawn, one hand pushing his hair out of his face. A losing battle, that.

“What?”

Yaku opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Grinning, Kuroo leaned over, grabbed Yaku’s shoulder and shook him.

“Hellooo?” he teased. 

“…Nothing,” Yaku said finally. 

It didn’t seem like nothing, because Yaku turned promptly on his heel and walked out of the Nekoma team room with one of his shoes untied. Unsettled, Kuroo shoved his crumpled-up school uniform into his cubby and followed.

As soon as his sneakers hit the gym floor, somebody whistled. Someone else laughed. 

Kuroo let his usual smirk fall across his face, “Seen something you like?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Kai replied.

What?

Well, Kuroo wasn’t one to dwell. He yawned again. He had barely slept the night before. The train station was close to his mom’s house, but for some reason Kuroo was one of those people who always had to get to the platform at the last minute. 

A hand tugged at the back collar of Kuroo’s jersey, choking him momentarily.

“Damn, Captain, you bleach your jersey or what?” Yamamoto’s voice exclaimed. 

Kuroo’s brow furrowed, “Bleach?”

Somewhere behind Kuroo, Yaku snorted, “Idiot. Bleach doesn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That.”

And suddenly Kuroo was being spun around like a fashion model, so that his back faced the rest of the team and his front faced Yaku, who was smiling far too evilly for anything good to be happening. Once the forced pirouette was complete, Kuroo found himself before a line of teammates who were all trying desperately not to laugh. 

“What?” he asked, an edge of annoyance creeping into his voice, “What’s the joke?”

“Your jersey,” Lev supplied helpfully.

“What about it?!”

Kenma, the only person unaffected by whatever show Kuroo was apparently putting on, looked up from his phone for a brief moment, and spoke.

“Daichi-san.”

\--------------------

“Daichi-san,” Hinata said, his eyes lighting up with much-delayed understanding, “That’s a Nekoma uniform!”

Daichi didn’t answer, which was just as well because his face was turning the same color as the burnt red Nekoma jersey that he was somehow wearing with the rest of his usual black and orange Karasuno gear. 

This was like something out of his nightmares. His volleyball-themed nightmares. Tanaka and Nishinoya were communicating through something only describable as bat-screeching. Tsukishima had given up on playing fair and was laughing openly, clutching Yamaguchi like the poor pinch server was the only thing keeping him upright. Only Suga seemed unperturbed, which did not make Daichi feel any better.

“To be fair, it probably gets confusing when you both wear number one,” Suga said.

“Not. Helping.” Daichi said through gritted teeth.

Betrayal. Stupid Suga. 

“I mean it!” Suga insisted, his face a picture of innocence, “When all the clothes are on the floor together, it must be so easy to just scoop up the wrong number one and just-”

“Suga!” Daichi all but shrieked. 

Face burning with a blush, he looked down at the fabric of the Nekoma jersey where it bunched over his hips. It was obviously meant for someone a bit taller. And when Daichi rolled his shoulders back, he could feel the fabric straining.

“That’s why it doesn’t fit right.”

\-------------------

“That’s why it doesn’t fit right!” Kuroo said triumphantly. 

The Karasuno jersey was just too short, no matter how you looked at it. The top was loose across Kuroo’s slender shoulders, but the hem stopped just above the waistband of his shorts. 

Mystery solved, Kuroo decided.

“Okay. Three on three today?” 

Yaku looked at Kuroo like he had suddenly sprouted kitty ears out of his bedhead, “Are we…are we just going to ignore _why_ you’re wearing Karasuno’s captain’s jersey?”

Kuroo shrugged, “Does it matter?” 

“No,” said Kenma absently.

“Yes!” countered Kai.

“Sawamura is just a fellow captain. With strong, rippling thighs and an ass that won’t quit,” said Kuroo thoughtfully. 

Yaku looked scandalized, “I don’t need to hear this.”

“Yeah, Captain, there are children here,” said Kai. 

Kuroo glanced over at Kenma, who was still crouched at the edge of the court playing video games.

“Sorry, Kenma.”

Kenma did not react.

Kai jabbed a thumb in the other direction, “I meant Lev. He’s like twelve, right?”

“I’m sixteen!” protested Lev.

“Right, right,” Kuroo nodded, ignoring him, “I forget cuz the kid’s a behemoth. Sorry, Lev.”

But Lev had already moved on. He leaned over Kenma, casting a long shadow across him.

“I just thought of something.”

“Hm?” Kenma didn’t look up.

“If Kuroo-san has Sawamura-san’s jersey, then that means…”

A sleepy smile spread across Kenma’s face. He put his 3DS down on the court floor, and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. 

“Shouyou.”

\--------------------

“Shoyou. Does Daichi-san have the wrong jersey too?” Hinata read off his phone in a stage-whisper, leaning into Kagayama conspiratorially. 

Daichi swallowed a desperate squeak, willing his usual calm captain’s demeanor back into place. Now his own kouhai were patronizing him.

Kuroo was so dead. 

“The captain is about to develop an ulcer,” said Narita, appropriately, “Why don’t we take a step back?”

He meant it literally, too, because all of Karasuno had formed a little ring around their red-faced leader, standing or slouching in various states of hysterics. So the players each took a few tentative steps away. 

“Okay. Game’s over,” said Daichi gruffly.

He grasped the back of the jersey and made to pull it off, over his head. He could practice in a t-shirt until he could swap the uniforms back. 

A cry rose up from the team.

“No!”

“Captain, keep it on!”

“Oh, c’mon, Daichi!”

A pair of hands caught the jersey as Daichi was about to slip it over his head, and all of the sudden the shirt began to slip back on.

“Stop it!” he growled.

“You’re going to make your boyfriend sad,” came Suga’s petulant voice.

“He’ll be sadder if you smother me in his jersey!” Daichi said, his voice muffled by the fabric as he fought Suga’s bizarrely strong grip.

“Didn’t deny the boyfriend thing,” said Ennoshita, somewhere to Daichi’s left.

Yamaguchi’s laugh filtered through Suga’s protests, and then a half-whisper, “You owe me twelve hundred yen.”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

“Sorry, Tsukki.”

An armhole spun by Daichi’s face. He caught sight of Hinata standing a few feet away, his cell phone in hand.

“Are you taking pictures?” Daichi gasped. 

“Shhh! Let it happen!” Suga chided, tugging at the shirt collar.

Just as Suga managed to force Daichi’s head back through the neck hole of the jersey, Coach Ukai walked in. 

The coach’s perplexed glance traveled around Daichi and Suga, wrestling over the jersey, past Hinata and his cameraphone, and finally came to rest on Yamaguchi, who was pocketing a fistful of what had presumably once been Tsukishima’s money.

Ukai blinked once. Twice. “What the fuck is this?”

\--------------------

“What the fuck is this?” 

Kuroo squinted at the photo on Kenma’s phone screen. Hinata wasn’t the world’s best photographer. He could make out Sugawara’s silver hair in the foreground, and in his hands was a smear of red that could only be Kuroo’s jersey. 

“It’s Suga,” said Kenma. 

“I know that!” said Kuroo.

He looked closer. Sugawara, as near as Kuroo could tell from the tiny snapshot, appeared to be trying to force the Nekoma jersey back over Daichi’s head. And Daichi was resisting, if the blurring of his waving arms was anything to go off of.

Kenma pulled the phone back, glancing at the photo again before he stowed the device.

“That’s kind of romantic, almost.”

Kuroo smirked. 

“You’re right. It is romantic.”

**Author's Note:**

> There you have it: my first (and hopefully not last) Haikyuu!! fic. It took all my self-control not to title it We Are Number One. Jenny, my weeb-enabling sister/actual favorite person, I hope you're happy.


End file.
